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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27310237">Things Kept Hidden</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/westcoastsmoked/pseuds/westcoastsmoked'>westcoastsmoked</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Team Fortress 2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, M/M, Mutual Pining, Not really an AU, Strangers to Lovers, some mention of canon-typical violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 20:26:51</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,470</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27310237</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/westcoastsmoked/pseuds/westcoastsmoked</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>From the moment he first saw the man, he was hopeless.</p><p>Down his scope, Sniper could see the figure, with his bat raised, running towards the other team’s spy. His figure was small, his arms were lean, and his legs were incredibly toned. Most importantly, that face. Perfectly chiseled jaw, piercing eyes that were a shining blue-grey, a focus pulling at his eyebrows and a smile tugging at his lips. Sniper was obliviously, obsessively, and head-spinningly hopeless. He couldn’t take his eyes away until the knife sinking into his spine did it for him.</p><p>It was something of a crush, but something Sniper wanted to hide deep down within himself. There were some things he could not bear to another soul, and they were worth hiding.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Scout/Sniper (Team Fortress 2)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>84</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>this is a little drabble i did over the span of a few days, it's a role reversal of the sniperscout "scout has a massive crush on sniper" trope. hopeless romantic sniper rights!</p><p>anyway, enjoy what came out of it.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>One morning, Sniper was sitting at the kitchen table, sipping his coffee while reading one of those cheesy murder mysteries you see at the drugstore. His head snapped up to the room’s entrance at the sound of soft footsteps. In the doorway, the new guy.</p><p>When Sniper had first seen the man, he was wearing his work uniform. T-shirt with the sleeves rolled up, baseball pants and socks, and a pair of running shoes. Now, he was only wearing what Sniper assumed to be his pajamas, simply an undershirt and pair of boxers, with a pistol of some sort tucked in his waistband. </p><p>The man waved to him. “Early morning, huh?”</p><p>Sniper was startled by this. He hadn’t realized he had paid any attention to the man in the first place. He tended to forget he was a person in a room. “Always an early morning,” he replied. It was 5 a.m, a time of day when nobody else in the base is awake, except for himself. It wasn’t a purposeful thing, moreso one of those things he couldn’t really control.</p><p>The Scout sat down across from him at the table, and opened a can of soda. “Whatcha’ reading?” The man had some northeast American accent, with stretchy vowels and dropped consonants. Sniper found it a bit endearing, as hard as it was to tell what he was trying to say.</p><p>“Some mystery book. Not very interesting, though.” Sniper closed the book, and set it to the side. “You’re the new Scout, correct?” He took a breath in, internally wincing at his own phrasing.</p><p>“Oh, me? Yeah, my first day working was yesterday. Nice to meet you, by the way. Name’s Jeremy.” He stuck his hand out for Sniper to shake it.</p><p>Sniper raised an eyebrow. “You aren’t supposed to tell me your name, you know that?” He met Scout’s hand with his own. Scout’s hand was a bit smaller than Sniper’s, and the arm that was attached to it was dotted with freckles all the way up to where the skin was covered by his undershirt. The fingers were rough, while the palm was soft and smooth.  He wore a griptape, didn’t he? Sniper couldn’t quite remember; he only had a moments’ glance at him on the battlefield. “I’m the Sniper.”</p><p>“One day I’ll get your name too.” The words washed over Sniper, leaving an uncanny feeling in it’s wake. Scout smiled. He had a buck-toothed smile, but it was peroxide white.</p><p>Sniper smiled back, sheepishly. Sniper barely knew this guy, yet he already had Sniper’s attention. “Why are you up this early, anyway?”</p><p>Scout laughed. “It’s too quiet around here, in a desert in the middle of freakin’ nowhere. I used to live in Boston, or at least in the suburbs outside it. Still much louder than sun-baked deserts and empty battlefields.”</p><p>Sniper cocked his head to the side slightly. “You share way more information with me than you should.”</p><p>“You seem trustworthy… enough.” Scout laughed.</p><p>Sniper chuckled. This new guy was funny, for sure. He had no clue what he was getting into, either.</p><p>Scout reached for his soda, and took a sip. “Hey, have you seen that Engineer guy around here? I can’t seem to find his workshop or whatever.”</p><p>“Yeah, his workshop is actually down the hall, third door on the left. I’d wait til’ after he wakes up to ask him anything, though.”</p><p>Scout took the pistol out of his waistband, and placed it on the table for Sniper to take a closer look at. It was a standard grey-blue pistol, but it had a radiation trefoil and a pair of golden wings detailed on the sides. “This right here, is the Winger. Did me good in high-school, and never failed me.” Scout picked up the pistol again, running his fingers over it. He looked at the gun with a sort of fondness in his eyes, as if it were a childhood toy of some sort. Yet the smirk on his face told of another lifetime, making it clear that Scout was a man that had killed too many people in his lifetime, and was bloodthirsty for more. A sentiment Sniper could share.</p><p>Sniper pointed at the gun’s bright details. “How’d you get these done?”</p><p>Scout’s killer smirk turned into a more wholesome grin. “Painted these on when I was 16. Kind of childish to keep them on, but they’re a nice reminder of my old life.” For a moment, Scout’s eyes met Sniper’s, and Sniper felt a connection he had never felt before. They were both far from where they belonged, on paths that were far from where they thought they’d be. Sniper had only known this man for what must have been ten minutes, but he felt like they had been friends for a lifetime.</p><p>~~~~</p><p>The next morning, Sniper saw Scout again. The weather on base was heading into the chillier season, and that morning was a particularly cold one. While Sniper was fiddling with the espresso machine, Scout plopped down on one of the kitchen table’s chairs, wearing sweats. He rested his head on his arms against the table, head turned to look at Sniper. “Good morning” Scout grumbled out, seemingly buried in his exhaustion.</p><p>“Morning.” Sniper turned around. “Want an espresso?”</p><p>Scout rolled his eyes. “Coffee’s gross.” He got up to look in the fridge. “Dammit. Forgot to buy more soda.” He walked over to Sniper, who had just finished making his drink. “Whatcha drinking?”</p><p>Sniper took a sip tentatively before responding. “Long black.”</p><p>Scout shook his head in confusion. “What the hell is that?”</p><p>“Espresso and hot water.”</p><p>“We call that an Americano here.”</p><p>Sniper put the cup down. “No, no. A long black is hot water topped with espresso. That’s how we drink it in Australia. You put the espresso in before the water in an Americano.”</p><p>Scout began to refill the espresso machine. “It doesn’t matter what order you put the shit in the cup, it tastes the same.” He poured hot water from the kettle into his cup. “My pa’ used to make it with the water first. Still an americano.” The motion and method of making this drink seemed to come easily to Scout, even when half asleep. As if he had done this a million times before. So much for a guy who said he didn’t like coffee.</p><p>Sniper took his cup and sat down at the kitchen table, the same chair he had sat in the day before. “Well, if you pour the water second you ruin the crema.”</p><p>Scout pulled two shots of espresso from the machine, and joined Sniper at the table. “See. This is an Americano!”</p><p>Sniper laughed. “No, mate, that’s a long black. You poured the hot water first.”</p><p>Scout rolled his eyes, and took a sip. “Whatever. I got you to tell me where you’re from anyway, so I win nonetheless.”</p><p>“I have an Australian accent. I talk like an Australian. You’re joking.” Sniper laughed.</p><p>“Gonna be honest here, thought you were just a Brit.”</p><p>“Guess you won then.” Sniper held his cup close in his hands, letting the heat warm himself up. “I’m still right, though. Neither of us are drinking an Americano.”</p><p>At that moment, Spy walked into the kitchen, and to the fridge.</p><p>Scout leaned back in his chair. “Hey, Spy! Do you put the water or do you put the espresso first in an Americano?”</p><p>Spy closed the fridge, awkwardly, and thought for a moment before replying. “Water.”</p><p>Scout looked at Sniper, with a certain mischievousness in his eyes, and a grin on his face. “Gotcha.”</p><p>Sniper tried his best not to smile back.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Hours after battle had concluded for the day, Scout and Sniper stood on one of the battlefield’s highest points, just talking. It was a cold evening, like how the mornings had become cold, and whenever Scout exhaled, Sniper could see the heat of his breath escaping from between his lips. It was a pretty sight.</p><p>To be honest, Sniper was shivering. It had never gotten this cold back where he grew up, and like Scout, this was his first winter on-base. Sniper wondered how a guy like Scout was never cold, and he had to ask.</p><p>Scout shrugged. “I mean, back in Boston it got way colder than this in the fall and winter. Freezing was the norm for us. My ma’ used to crank the heat as high as she could and she made me and my brothers share beds when it got to the dead of winter. This is nothing compared to what it’s like up north, seriously.”</p><p>Sniper hummed in acknowledgement, continuing to shiver in the cold. “You’ve lived a lot of life, huh?”</p><p>Scout smiled. “I’d like to think so.” His face dropped. “Hey, you’re freezing, aren’t you?”</p><p>Sniper shook his head. “No, it’s just a little chilly. Very warm where I grew up.”</p><p>Scout took a step towards Sniper, and unzipped the sweatshirt he was wearing. He held the sweatshirt out to Sniper. “It’s only a bit chilly out for me. Take this.”</p><p>Sniper pushed the sweatshirt back towards Scout. “I couldn’t. First of all, I’d feel terrible for taking this, and second, I’m probably twice your size.” Sniper wasn’t wrong about the second part. Scout really was a small, lithe guy, even with his strong build. The top of his head was just about at Sniper’s chin. It was cute, in a way only a hired killer could find another hired killer ‘cute.’</p><p>Scout went behind Sniper, and pulled the sweatshirt over Sniper’s shoulders. “There you are, see? Much better.” Scout patted Sniper’s arm, before returning to his original spot. It sent an electric shiver through Sniper, something that he tried his best to ignore.</p><p>“Thanks.” Sniper did feel kind of ridiculous wearing a sweatshirt that was much too small for him around his shoulders, and he did feel a bit awkward taking it from Scout. The entire situation seemed so silly, yet there was a certain warmness filling his body, and it wasn’t the warmth from the garment sitting on his shoulders. It was a feeling of attachment, something Sniper tried to hide from. </p><p>He wasn’t opposed to it this time around.</p><p>Scout interrupted Sniper’s thoughts with his own question. “So, you’re from Australia, and it was warm there. What was it like growing up down under.”</p><p>“Hmm,” Sniper started, but he cut himself off. His childhood wasn’t as bright and sunny as he wished it was to tell Scout. Boring, lived on a farm, didn’t get along with his dad much. The kids at school sucked, and he left for the bush as soon as he graduated high school. Nothing that Scout would want to hear about. “I think that’s a story for another day.”</p><p>“Alright.”</p><p>~~~~<br/>Drinking was something that the mercenaries did when they were bored or looking to find someone. In Sniper’s case one evening, it was neither.</p><p>Scout was at this point, two drinks past tipsy, and telling Sniper a story about his last job before he became a mercenary. Sniper was a bit worried about Scout’s state, and surprised that Scout was just talking to him. Sniper had assumed Scout would have gone off to talk to one of the women at the bar by now, yet he had only given his attention to Sniper for the night.</p><p>“...and then they were freakin’ shooting at me! Civilians, I’m telling you! So I had to shoot back obviously, and guess what?”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“I was the last one left standing in the end! Take that, stupid bastards!” Scout laughed at the end of his own story, as if it were a silly tale about college friends and not about killing at least five other men in cold blood. Charming. Suddenly, Scout’s attention turned to Sniper. “Hey, Snipes, what was your last job like?” Sniper was not the best at expressing his feelings, let alone flirting or letting on that he was interested. He had been mostly cold to Scout, his past and emotions hidden under lock-and-key. He yearned so deeply to tell Scout everything, yet it scared him to let someone know him that intimately.</p><p>“Solitary,” Sniper started, scanning his words for the right words to say, “and from long distances.” He saw Scout roll his eyes. </p><p>“Alright, so you were a Sniper before you were well… The Sniper. Do you have any crazy stories from those days?”</p><p>“Got bit by a snake once.” Sniper took a long sip of his whiskey. He didn’t like it when Scout asked him things like this. He couldn’t tell Scout about much, it’d chase him away for good. </p><p>Scout audibly groaned. “Come on! Tell me something!”</p><p>To be honest, Sniper had far more interesting memories from his old job. Like the time he killed a guy with just his kukri and bare hands. Or the other time he had to throw someone who was wide awake off a boat, and he had to watch the man drown to make sure he was dead. Those memories, although entertaining, were dark, and Sniper didn’t want Scout to see that side of him any more than he already did on the battlefield. “It was a rattlesnake.” </p><p>Scout groaned again. “I can’t with you.” He put his head on Sniper’s shoulder, and closed his eyes. “I’m too tired for this. Wake me up when we’re leaving.”</p><p>Sniper tried not to smile at the sight of Scout leaning on him. “Of course.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Four hours past midnight, Sniper was driving aimlessly down the highway in one of the free-to-use cars on base. It had been weeks, maybe months at this point since that first conversation in the kitchen. A thousand things were running through Sniper’s mind, and all of them were keeping him awake. </p><p>He didn’t have a clue what to do. He liked Scout, too much for his own good. He knew too much about Scout for his own good. He spent too much time with Scout for his own good.</p><p>He was starting to lose his mind, that was for sure. This childish crush, simply a phase of admiration, had turned into strong romantic feelings. Sniper had never really been in a serious relationship. Those would have gotten in the way of work, and people are not that attracted to hired hitmen or mercenaries. Part of Sniper thought that maybe, since they were both in the same line of work, it could work out. Wishful thinking, he knew that for sure.</p><p>Scout was remarkably kind to Sniper, but he probably had a picket-fence future with a wife and kids all planned out. What were the chances that Scout felt the way Sniper did, or more importantly, what were the chances that Scout liked men? Low, Sniper figured.</p><p>The worst part was the dreams about Scout. Sniper would have let things between him and Scout naturally end and grow apart if he didn’t have those recurring dreams of Scout. In every dream, he told Scout his name, and in every dream he heard Scout say it back to him. The sound of it was always muffled since Sniper’s mind was only guessing what the letters sound like coming from Scout, but the feeling of it made Sniper feel so hopeless.</p><p>Instead of coming to a rational conclusion, Sniper’s thoughts continued to weave in and out of one another, tangling endlessly. So he drove back to the base, and started his days like usual. With espresso and regular conversation with the man who made his heart ache endlessly.</p><p>~~~~</p><p>One evening in the locker room, post-battle, Sniper had been putting his equipment away for the day, when a familiar hand pulled at his arm, and a familiar voice whispered in his ear. “Please come talk to me when you’re done today, alright?”</p><p>Sniper turned his head to meet Scout’s eyes, and saw an intensity, a fear he had never seen before. He nodded, without a second thought. </p><p>When Sniper arrived at their regular meeting spot, Scout, for the first time, didn’t look at him. He opted to continue to stare at the sunset, a particularly bleak one compared to New Mexico’s usual beauty. Scout had changed out of his work clothes, wearing a baggy sweater and jeans. His hair had grown longer since he had started working as a mercenary, and that day it was brushed back instead of hidden under a hat. </p><p>The silence was heavy, and Sniper decided to break it. “You wanted to talk, what’s wrong?”</p><p>Scout turned around, but refused to look Sniper in the eye. He instead held a piece of folded paper out for Sniper. Sniper knew exactly what Scout had found. </p><p>Sniper, over time, had begun to write down the things that Scout told him about himself. The list started as just a few things, and eventually became a lot of things written in a very small print. It was all on a folded up piece of paper, which he kept in his vest pocket to look at during the lulls of battle. It was a small thing that brought him joy on the hard days, and gave him reasons to look forward to the next day instead of dreading it. It was something Scout was never supposed to see. </p><p>Sniper took it from Scout, and unfolded it. He smiled fondly at the words on the paper, all the facts about Scout’s life and all of the things that made Sniper so happy. </p><p>Scout didn’t seem so happy about the paper, more hurt than anything. “You wrote it all down? Everything?”</p><p>Sniper nodded. “I guess. Was I not supposed to?”</p><p>“It doesn’t matter that you did. It matters that I know nowhere near this much about you.”</p><p>Sniper put the paper away. He knew he was in the wrong, and he had no defense for himself. </p><p>Scout took another step closer to Sniper. Sniper could see that his eyes were watering, and could hear in his voice that he was shaking. “I want to know, so bad, about you. You know my life story, all of the intricate details, and I don’t even know your name. It’s been six months since we first met.” </p><p>“I don’t understand. You barely know me, how do you care this much?” Sniper queried. He had been confused, from the moment they met, why Scout cared. Why did Scout hang around Sniper all the time? Why did he ask all of these questions if he knew Sniper was never going to give him a straight answer?</p><p>“Because I know you! I know you pour the water before the espresso and you call it the wrong name, I know that your rifle is from the second World War and the little bruise on your thumb is from reloading it too fast, I know that you must have brought your RV from Australia because I’ve seen your old license plates in the back. You buy your hair product from the company magazine, it’s the same brand I use. I even know that you read crappy romance novels in your free time; you even annotate them! You smoke Marlboro Reds, but you never smoke when I’m around. Most importantly, I know you hate everyone on base but me. I know you, goddammit.” Scout took another step. He placed his hands on Sniper’s shoulders, and looked him in the eye. Sniper froze in place, unsure of what to do. “Please, tell me anything about you. Tell me about your parents back home, tell me about your hopes and dreams. Tell me why you even live in a camper van, for fuck’s sake! Just please, tell me anything.” Scout pleaded, voice breaking.</p><p>Sniper removed Scout’s hands from his shoulders, and stepped away from the other man. He had to say something, but the words escaped him. At the moment, he only remembered three things about himself. “My name is Mick Mundy. I’m 26. And I’m in love with you.”</p><p>Scout let the tears stream down his cheeks, having given up on wiping them away. “I think I really could be in love with you too. It’s true. I just need you to let me in, please. I don’t care what you have to hide, I just want the real you, I want Mick.” He was desperate, and seemed to be almost heartbroken. Sniper's heart dropped at the sight in front of him, and it flipped at the sound of his own name.</p><p>Sniper wrapped his arms around Scout as he continued to cry. “I’m all yours,” Sniper said, voice shaking. Scout’s cries calmed to silence, and he looked up at Sniper. Sniper ran a hand through Scout’s hair, down the side of his face. “I’ll tell you what I can, okay?”</p><p>“Okay.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>fun fact: the working title for this was 'gay little drabble' cause i thought it was going to only be the first chapter. oh well. hope you enjoyed reading it as much as i enjoyed writing it!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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